High School Level Art
by pigeons-and-duckies
Summary: As if my schedule wasn't bad enough. Now I have to deal with awkwardly warm chairs, tutors, being a third wheel, falling in love, and that stupid freaking art class. USUK, (with bits of GiriPan and GerIta) High School AU
1. Chapter 1

**Guess who can write humor again? This chick! Doesn't mean I can get out of this new obsession for high school AUs though… This is from Alfred's POV just for kicks though.**

**I don't own Hetalia, but I do enjoy borrowing the characters from time to time.**

Art? Really, public school system? I sign up for animal science as an elective and somehow manage to get the one thing I can't do to save my life? Really? Some year this is going to be, that's for sure.

But that wasn't all Sir Schedule had in store, apparently. My block schedule, which I'd planned to be dominated with sciences with maybe one mandatory History or English per semester, was instead close to the opposite.

My beautiful morning would be polluted with the evil of English, which would be a hardship on its own. Directly after that would be American History, which I guess could have been worse, like World History or something, but it was still definitely not going to be a favorite. In third period, I got AP Physics, which is great and all, but Physics itself is friggin' difficult. AP level is probably hell. But see, computer geeks like me can get far (from their parents basement in a couple years).

Last period was Art, Painting 1, to be exact. Yip-de-dee.

I was snagged out of my thoughts by my phone singing the National Anthem, which may seem odd, but Mattie's ringtone is something in French, so I think it runs in the family. Eh, probably.

The phone's bright display was contrasted by the name 'Ludwig' in dark, heavy text. Way to make my day better, a healthly dose of 'What have I done this time?' I pressed the accept call button and brought it to my ear, getting ready to flinch at the reprimanding I was probably about to receive.

But instead, in a happy surprise, I couldn't even say hello before I got an earful of incoherent blabbering. A very… Italian incoherent blabber.

"Feli, Feli!" I raised my voice a little bit into the mouthpiece, and it seemed to get Feliciano to stop for just a minute. "Just chill out. First of all, how did you get your hands on Ludwig's phone?" When I'm talking to Feli, I always seem to feel just a little bit responsible. But I guess everyone feels mature around that Italian, maybe it was the aura that he gave off or something.

"Ve~, I was at Luddy's house and I forgot mine and I was going to go home but Lovi was home and whenever I talk to him he seems to get angry at me and I don't like people who are mad at me," There was no punctuation for this boy when he was telling a story was there? I figured I would just let him talk for a little while before I stopped him. Again, my maturity around this guy seemed to skyrocket. "and I had to call for Grandpa to get me my shoes because I think I forgot my left one but your name is at the top of the contact list and-" I stopped him there, not just because of this going on forever, but I figure I have to call Gilbert or someone, tell them I'm trying out for football this year.

"I've done stuff like that before! Do you have any other things to tell me?" Feliciano's stories may last forever, but they tend to be funny. Also, it's better than staring at my failure of a schedule or listening to other people have great ones.

"Oh yeah! Me and Luddy kissed!" My breath stopped for a moment and I tried to think about this new information. I always knew something was going on between those two, but really, was there any better way to rub in my relationship problems?

I realized I was supposed to respond when I heard the silence on the other end of the phone. "That's great! What did ya'll do right?" If I could set Feliciano on another spiel, I would have time to sort out my thoughts in only a semi-clouded way.

His voice turned into an accented drone in the background as I wrapped my mind around it. I guess saying that made me sound like I had something for one or the other, but that's not it. Basically, the rest of the school would follow suit. I mean, if the two most polar opposite people in the world, ever, could get together, then why couldn't anyone else? Summer romances are hits with the girls, and they would probably go crazy.

Which is great for their love interests, I guess. But I didn't think that anyone could possibly be into me, seeing as I'm a hyperactive jerk-ish type most of the time, at least according to Mattie and just about everyone else. Not to mention problems in my new fourth period. This streak of luck is just getting better and better.

Which reminded me, "Hey Feli, do you have any tips on art for me? I have it as a new class, and I suck like hell at it and I know you're a genius when it comes to that stuff."

"First I need to know which art you're gonna take! I'm going to be in Pottery and Sculpture!" He sounded overjoyed about it, but I figured he had a right to be. It was his favorite, after all.

"Painting 1, I think." I replied, hoping to everything that Feliciano would have the improbable information of an escape route from that class, or a something-or-another to draw that will place me in a different elective.

But no such luck, I realized, as Feliciano seemed to smile through the phone back at me, "That's the easiest one, silly! My Grandpa's the teacher, and he'll teach you all the basics! You've got nothing to worry about!"

Which brings me to where I am now, with plenty to worry about.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Do you know the weirdest sensation? When a seat is warm. Of course, toilet seats take the crown in this event, but it's really friggin' awkward no matter what you do. Put a jacket or something else on top of it? Not gonna work, the warmth will spread through and be even worse, especially with the new bumps. Switch chairs? Nope, if karma wants you, karma will get _you. _

I'd rather sit on one of those seats that feels like it was only recently pulled out of the freezer than to sit on a stupid, retarded, _warm seat._

And that preference of mine is really helping me deceiver how crappy this year is going to be. Every single class so far, even my first period somehow, has had warm seats. Even my lunch table's chair was the just-been-sat-in warm. All throughout the day I've been squirming and trying to find even a little bit of the chair that isn't some awkward temperature.

But I haven't so far, and even in my fourth period, with a drawing capabilities test in front of me (which I'm probably going to fail, just so you know), I can't seem to get into a position that isn't awkward through my denim. And I think that the whole class is looking up and staring every five seconds at me, because I also managed to get the squeakiest stool in the history of the world.

On the bright side of things, not all my teachers or kids in my class are completely horrible. The teacher for English is some British chick that doesn't look old, but she's the type of person who you can just tell is like a million years old. For American History, I have a lady who sort of reminds me of my mother, just my mom doesn't have awesome heritage in the Cherokee Indians.

For Physics I have this German guy who is real strict and has a glare that could probably combust someone if looks could kill. But I think he means well, and who am I kidding, thinking I couldn't like someone who is teaching Physics! And lastly, I have Mr. Vargas, Feliciano's grandpa. Now it's easy to see where Feli gets his away-with-the-fairies persona and talent in the arts.

The kids in my class are great too, like I share History and Physics with Kiku. He would probably be in English with me also, but sadly he has to go to English Second Language during first period. During fourth, he probably has math, or something I'd like more than art.

Feli and I share one class, American History, so at least I'm not totally alone during second. I think my brother might also share that class with me also but I can never be sure exactly where he is…

And then, how could I forget, Arthur. We have the same schedule, except he's in AP English and History, while I'm in AP Physics. At least we get to see each other in Art, which is more than we got freshman year. We used to only be locker buddies, but now we're totally artist buddies!

I remember the 'we'll see each other in art' part as soon as I finish my thought. A sharp jab in my side tells me just how annoying the squeaking is to others, especially matched up with a scowl on the face of the Brit poking. I fight his scowl power with the smile equal to probably a thousand suns, which for some reason only makes him jab a second, harder time, and turn back to his drawing.

Finally, I sit still long enough to lower the gazes of everyone in the room and draw the first couple lines of my picture. I have an idea in my head, but it doesn't seem to want to transfer onto the paper. I hardly even want to be here, my whole schedule kinda sucks, and there's a stupid warm, squeaky chair that makes it so if I move even a fraction of an inch it'll sound like I just stabbed a friggin' banshee.

Which leads me to a decision that pretty much punctuates how much I like this chair. Calmly, I pick it up and calmly begin the walk to the door. And calmly I open the heavy, gray door leading to the spray painting part of the courtyard and calmly place the chair down. I might not be as calm when I finally kick the stool over, and hear with a satisfying smile the last little creak it makes when my foot connects.

I guess it was some kind of stress reliever, because getting a dying squeak from a stool shouldn't have felt as satisfying as it did. But I really don't care, because Mr. Vargas is probably burning a hole in the back of my head through the little window slot they use for code reds and stuff.

Everyone's eyes are on me when I walk back inside, without my stool, and when I kind of kneel in front of my workspace. Arthur seems to stare at me the longest before turning back to his shaded and everything drawing. I also turn back to mine and try to focus on the task at hand.

I guess the picture isn't as bad as it could be, especially when my judgment isn't clouded with that stupid stool underneath me. Maybe if I just make some of the lines lighter the hole in the paper won't stand out as much, or if I use my finger to spread the lead I can make the edges a little bit less definite. At least, that's what I think will work, judging by the dark gray stains on Arthur's middle finger and the musky lines that make the picture blend in a smoky way for him.

On mine though, the lines just give way to a sloppy looking stain going unevenly outside the lines. I try to ignore it and finish adding the shading to what was supposed to be a park bench in the afternoon. It ends up looking like a breakup scene in the rain from a bad movie I watched last weekend, which I guess kind of fits my day so far. It was supposed to be sunny and a new start, but instead I got a bad forecast.

**First chapter down, some odd number more to go. Yes, I know Feli isn't that hyper, no need to tell me. I just wanted to write a ramble scene XD. E-cookie to those of you who know who the teachers are!**

**I hope you liked it, and pretty please review! I even love things like plz updte! and :D. Also, I need some feedback on whether this was funny, just so-so, or totally OOC. Just no flames, mostly cause I don't have any marshmallows.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Alfred's POV again, cuz whatever.**

**I don't own Hetalia or anything else that gets alluded to.**

I think something is wrong with me. I absolutely do. Somehow, I can beat every eating record ever, take AP Physics like a boss, and totally manage being a third wheel (more on that later), but somehow drawing a _flower _is like freaking rocket science. Which I'm sure I would be awesome at.

The petal looks all wrinkly and crisp at the same time, not how real flower petals look. Real flower petals either look crisp and bloomy, or mushy and wrinkled. A combination of the two just looks weird and wrong. Not too out of place among the other things in my painting though, including: a lop-sided bicycle wheel, terribly-textured pots, and something that looks like an irregular growth on the side of the vase.

I think Mr. Vargas set this array up just to screw with me.

Not that it was bothering anyone else, especially those around me. Take Arthur for an example. He was drawing this shit like an old pro with texture and those cute little sketch lines that you see on professional drafts of paintings that make it to the MOMA.

Mine looks like a badly coordinated 60's movie, complete with the totally out of date sound effects and black and white television.

But I guess I should elaborate on the whole 'third-wheel' thing. You see, a Greek kid moved in, and I don't think I've seen him awake a single time, but Kiku is head-over-heels.

They go to the movies together on Saturdays, and I think they just go and sleep from the previews until the credits, but it's some kind of chance for them to cuddle. Or maybe just a chance to escape from Kiku's ever-watching older brother, who is absotively posilutely bonkers.

Sometimes, I'll agree to go with them because hey, free food, but it'll get weird after a while. Sometimes I'll just take the bucket of popcorn and loiter outside for a little while because it's not like they'll miss me or anything. Or the popcorn, for that matter. They're probably too sucking each other's faces to want the buttery goodness.

Which I'm okay with, it's not like I want someone to call my own or anything. But when I word it like that, I guess it sounds just a bit suspicious. Elizabeta would call it denial and immediately go into 'Matchup Plan: Alpha' with her friends, and I know because I've sure as sugar been on the wrong side of Plan Alpha.

I figure a lot of people have, due to the impending number of doujins that the Hungarian has some kind of underground black market for.

I think I've been in at least three volumes. One volume with Kiku, which lead to an incredibly awkward week, next with Francis, whom I think volunteers for those positions as leading romance-man, and most recently, Ivan. Elizabeta said, "Foe yay is incredibly hot!" but I doubt that, because the chocolates he tried to give me were laced with arsenic.

It's almost a good thing that I haven't seen Liz this year, because I have enough to worry about on my own. Like English, for example. Apparently it's really easy to not do so hot in something you've been speaking all your life. But at least we aren't learning that weird version that Arthur tries to convince me is better, and I think it's why he has that cute accent.

The language he is trying to tell me about is all u's and s' and its really friggin' weird! What the hell is an aubergine? Or a freaking _loo. _If he isn't joking, well then no wonder America is boss and totally won the Revolutionary war.

But somehow, with that screwed-up British head of his, he is acing AP English (Should be AP American, then I'd like to see how he fares) and Painting 1, which I might be in trouble with.

I think I have a D in this, if I'm lucky. I think the whole D thing might lead back to the drawing I'm doing now, which is, by the way, a warm up. Not even a full blow-your-mind project, but just a warm up!

I wish that when Mr. Vargas saw my drawing capabilities measuring thing a four weeks ago on the first day, he would've just moved my happy ass back to science. Apparently, either he didn't want to grade them, or it was good enough for him.

If he's anything like his grandson, he was probably too lazy.

I really hope he was being lazy, actually, because if I'm getting some kind of grade for that or any of my work in this class, then I'm screwed. Like broken-IKEA-desk screwed.

I really wonder why some people can be so good at art and stuff, while others suck. I'm one of the suckers, but, if it isn't obvious yet, Arthur isn't. I think I might think of him too much, but it's probably because of how great he is at everything I'm crap at.

But it's kinda awesome that in turn, all the stuff I'm rockin' sockin' at, he's having trouble with. All most like the Universe has a way of fixing itself and giving me bragging rights in the process.

"I'm kind of worried; we're getting our interims tomorrow! Especially about my Physics class…" Mattie (who is in my class, apparently) trails off, swishing his brush around on his pallet, mixing a little bit of orange into the red to create an intense burning type of color. He's a fast but good drawer, and is a little bit ahead of me on the project.

"Oh, really? Science has never been a problem for me!" I boast, not even looking up from where I'm trying to add texture on the side of the plant. Status so far: it looks like fish scales.

Arthur sticks his tongue back in his mouth from the way he usually does when he's drawing, and snaps back a quick reply, "How about your other subjects?"

Ouch, way to go Artie. "Umm, well… I'm not failing anything, so there's your answer!" I tell him smugly, lifting my head fully and looking sideways to where he was hunched over the paper.

"With low D's, in all probability." He turns his head and gives me this look that I think might be an attempt all telling me not to go on the next inevitable subject, but c'mon, I need to bring my (shameful) grades to justice!

"And tell me more about how you are doing in Physics." I still have eye contact, and I attempt to do the Willy Wonka pose from that popular meme. But my pencil kind of gets in the way and I have to turn in the chair (thankfully replaced so no _squuueeaaak_ sound) to cross my legs but I hit my knee on the table so instead I just look at him with a cocked head.

"None of your business!" He says hotly and turns his head again, but not starting to make any lines, "Probably like your D's." He mumbles quietly, starting to draw again. A think silence descends over the table, one that I'll probably need some ninja-mind-bomb to break anytime soon, so I just go back to drawing my crappy 60's movie.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

At least it's Friday, I mean, it might be Still Dark A.M. on a Friday, but nothing bad can happen on a Friday. Rebecca Black even made a song about it, that's how awesome Friday is.

Anyways, I had also found out that someone had gone to the store yesterday and picked up some good cereals, so I made myself a bowl of Captain Crunch, and maybe like two more, and even had time to go on Reddit for a while and check out some rage comics.

And when Mattie and I headed out the door, I had everything in my backpack, my glasses on my face (thank God, 'cause when I forget them I suck at art even more. My vision is -10.25 in both eyes, just in case you wanted to know), my little cowlick standing up awesome as ever, and just plain old lookin' good.

The damp heat of the September morning from last night's thunder storm is somehow not even giving me frizz, probably because I've learned to get used to this kind of weather from the very start of my existence, so I'm not sweating or anything. Mattie from Canada, however…

"Alfred! How can you stand this! I swear, I'm moving back to Vancouver with dad as soon as possible." Mattie actually said, not whispered. Around other people, he was real quiet, like at school he just faded into the background. At home or with me, he wasn't afraid to yell but after his loud speeches, he would usually look around and apologize to the neighbors, even though we were inside and the neighbors would have to be freaking stalkers to hear anything.

"Oh, c'mon Mattie! You say that every day, but I know you don't mean it! You love it here with me and mom!" I sling an arm around his shoulder, beaming at him.

He shrugs out of my arm length but continues to walk next to me, just a little bit farther away, "Sure." He says, practically dripping with sarcasm.

I pout a little bit but keep walking to the stop sign where the bus comes. The sky is that a mix of light and dark grays, depending on where the clouds are thicker. Somehow though, with the clouds and rain last night, I get into a debate with a Canadian over heat and a great lookin' Friday.

Well, the great stuff is just my intuition, but I figure I should trust it. Like I said, nothing bad happens on Fridays. 'Cept report cards and in today's case, a few interims.

I think I'll do fine though; I am a hero after all! A few D's aren't the worst thing in the world, and I probably don't even have a single D. Probably all A's, like a boss. Even in Art Class.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Okay, so maybe not all A's, I realize, as I sit in busroom. But a B in American History isn't that far off, neither is the C in English. An A in AP Physics, I think I used super-awesome-science-magic for that. So I really don't think that any of those are too horrible.

Except my low, low D in this classroom. Painting 1, where I'm giving Mr. Vargas the death glare. He is just kinda smiling and sparkling back because I don't think he realizes what he's done.

"A 93.6 is satisfactory, I suppose." Arthur says, fishing his binder out of his backpack and tucking the interim into a clear pocket protector. Typical British neatness.

Before he can completely close his binder, I stick my hand in the way and slide the whole thing towards me, earning a protest from Arthur.

"Twat! Give me my notebook back!" Arthur reaches his hand towards my arm and his binder, but I'm too quick for him, as to be expected from me. I already have it on the edge of the table and am partially turned with my back to him to give him less range around me. I open the page protector thing and take out all four sheets.

Of course, his AP English is like a 99.8. And of course his AP American History is a 97.4. He hasn't even lived in America his whole life, like what the hell man!? And his Painting is, as mentioned earlier, a 93.6.

But even in the meadow of beautiful A flowers, there ought to be a D weed, just stickin' out like a sore thumb. And I found the D weed in Physics, Arthur's current grade being a _70.2._

"Dude! In the one class I got a solid A in, you get a freaking D? That's priceless!" I begin laughing, probably attracting some unwanted attention to the blushing Arthur.

"Shut up! The whole bloody room doesn't need to know my grades!" Arthur snatches back his binder and the interims, sloppily putting the papers into a pocket on the side of the binder.

He finally looks up again after shoving the binder into his backpack with a red face, which quickly develops a little smirk. Which I think is an amusing match, because he simultaneously looks plotting and embarrassed.

But then again, what is the smirk for?

Quickly, he leans down over my backpack and thrusts out is hand, pulling out the folder that I use for absolutely everything. He throws it open and grabs my interims from the front half of the left pocket, where I decided they should all be together.

Ooh, so that's why he was lookin' all mischievous like.

The first one he sees is art, and he lets out a small gasp. He sets it face down on the table and looks at the next one, my Physics class. His look can only be described as jealous, probably because he hears angels and stuff when he sees that 96.8 and an A in big, fat, green marker.

He does a hybrid of slamming and sliding with that one on the table, but his smirk returns when he fans out the other two report cards wide enough to see the two letters.

"Oh, really? You don't have much room to talk, D boy." His grin is positively shit-eating as he slides the papers back to me to shove in my folder.

"At least mine was in an elective! Yours was in _Physics, _a required class!" I argue back, shoving my thick folder in between my book and (empty, save for loose leaf paper) binder in my backpack.

"I was just having a bad day! It'll get better!" Arthur says, probably reassuring himself more than me. It was funny how his mood could go from smirking and smug to defensive and blushing. Everything about him made it awesome to mess with him! He probably needs to work on his facial expressions if he doesn't want to be pissed off anymore, especially courtesy of me and Francis.

"Okay, whatever you say, _D boy_" I grin, using his own title against him. He makes an _hmph_ noise and turns away. Arthur starts a conversation with Mattie, probably over their mutual love of all things educational or something.

I tune them out as I check for my bus, knowing full and well that it's so late it doesn't show up on the screen ever. I usually listen to the intercom say "All remaining students, please come to the bus loop." And have to go out there and wait until four-thirty. Arthur's bus is about the same time as mine; just his will come at like four-fifteen.

As I watch bus route twelve pop up, I hear my name in the conversation Mattie and Arthur are having.

"-Alfred knows this stuff, you could just ask him." Mattie says, shrugging a bit.

"Wait, ask me what? I know a lot of stuff, so I'm gonna need you to specify." I say, probably startling Arthur and Matthew a little bit.

"Nothing, just turn around and go back to dreaming or whatever the hell you were doing! I don't need your help with anything." Arthur stated (a little louder than needed, in my opinion), being contradicted by Mattie happily replying, "Physics."

Arthur glares at him, with Mattie giving another shrug. "It had to be said."

"So you want my help with the terrible demon they call physics, huh?" I pretend to ponder for a minute, just to keep him on edge, ya know, dramatic effect, "Sounds great!" I say, smiling wider as I swing an arm around a reluctant Arthur.

"I don't need your help. I can do well on my own, as many gentlemen before me have." Arthur shrugs my arm off his shoulder and edges away from me towards the end of the stool.

"Naw, you need my help. I'll even let you help me in English and Art!" 'Let you help' my ass, I needed the help, "It's a win-win situation."

"Ugh, fine! Your house at six." Arthur crossed his arms and reddened in a cute way.

Wait-not cute! It's just fun to- a little bit- ugh, shut up brain. My thoughts, my rules.

**Please review! It's like little droplets of happy in each word :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**Woah! I updated! *confetti***

**This chapter is shorter than the rest by like, a lot. Sorry about that ^^;**

Maybe I'm right. I'm probably wrong. That seems to happen a lot, the wrong thing. Because, in the last instance of wrong-ness, I suggested tutoring. I was so sure of myself then, too! I thought that not only would it be a chance to learn more about English, but a chance for me to learn more about Arthur. What I could be right or wrong about right now though is me thinking that this tutoring thing in a couple minutes could possibly go well.

Because, within the last 30 seconds, I have decided that ever since the beginning, it has been a terrible idea. I want to learn more about Arthur, but I don't want him to know more about me! I know that sounds totally creepy, but I have sound reasons. Sound reasons that I'm completely freaking out over right now!

I know, I know, the great hero "freaked out" about something, but you have nothing to worry about. I'll just have a momentary spazz session over a small predicament. It should all be okay once this whole thing is over, right?

But what if he hates me? Well, more than he already does, but there is still a threat! What if he forgets his work and we have to share? What if he launches an argument on how Britain is better than America and I can't win because he brings up Dr. Who? What if a satellite falls on the house and kills us all?!

Deep breath.

Epic stuff like that only happens to Batman.

Either way, I have a feeling about this. It can either turn out really well, or just suck in epic proportions. Especially because everyone except Artie and I gone.

Even my dick brother from Canada who endorsed this won't be here.

I'll be alone. With Arthur.

For the record, my heart isn't beating hard. I'm just… worried about a satellite falling. Definitely that.

Also for the record, I totally didn't jump what-so-ever when the doorbell rang.

"Hey dude!" I let him in, "you don't have to take off your shoes or whatever if you don't want to."

"I don't want to get this carpet dirty though. It looks exotic, like it could be from India. Is that where it's from?"

Typical Arthur, over-thinking everything. "It's from like, BJ's or something."

"Oh…" He reddens a bit, and I'm slightly happy. I know that not only is he not right all the time like he seems, but if I keep showing him up like this maybe his own nervousness will show. Then I won't feel so alone in all these irrational worries.

"But close man! It was made in China like everything else, and China is exotic." I say, smiling. I hope I don't sound too much like a wise ass but sometimes that stuff just happens. And besides, Arthur is going to be using sarcasm all throughout this thing, so if I do sound a bit rude it's just in preparation.

"Shut up" He turns around and walks into the main room. To his right there's the kitchen and to his left the living room. Directly in front is where my family and I usually eat dinner, just a round table with four seats.

He finally stares back at me as I walk into the room he's in.

"Do you want something to eat? It _is _6:00-ish and that's kind of a dinner time. I think I have Twinkies in the closet." I offer, being the awesome host I am. Host with the most, baby.

"No, and do you really eat Twinkies for dinner? You really do need to mind your health." He scolds, sitting down at the table, sounding just like my dad or mom or someone. Seriously, he sounds like an old man too often. "Now don't make this something social, I came over for tutoring," He says as he sits down at the table.

"Dude, I was just trying to get you something to eat. Don't get your panties in a wad." I grab my book bag and sit down next to him, beginning to stretch my hand into the abyss that is the main compartment of my book bag. Note to self: clean out bag.

I finally grab my everything-folder and pull it out, slapping it on the table. It really is a heavy folder, and just another thing I need to clean out, I guess.

"You really need to clean out your folder." Arthur says, eyeing the fat thing and the skewed papers sticking out of the top. Way to echo my thoughts, dude.

"I know, I know. It's no problem now so I don't really care. I will empty it later though, if it makes you happy." I say, trying to avoid a fight. Usually I'm all ready for one, but I really do not want to have to not only make him leave after only a little while, but have to deal with all the problems on Monday. Now you know that I don't _always_ seek confrontation.

Arthur sighs and opens his binder. Everything is in neat compartments with labels and it's all color coordinated. No wonder my messy folder seemed to morally offend him.

"You're really neat, how do you even keep up with all that stuff?" I ask, thumbing one of his tabs.

He smacks my hand away, "I just take a little bit more time everyday with orderliness and I regularly clean out the notes I won't need anymore. When you think about it, _it actually makes sense._" He uses sarcasm at the end, probably to indicate how utterly _stupid _I am for ever not being completely cleanly.

"The joke's on you, aren't you just wasting time keeping everything tidy?" I smirk, quite proud of my comeback. No sarcastic comment gets past this guy, no-sir-ee.

"Don't you waste time looking through your folder everyday trying to find the night's assignment?" He uses a logic bomb, which should totally be illegal when the person you are up against is feeling good about themselves.

Shit.

X-X-X-X-X-X

We're in an argument about "u" placement, of all things. I know that I may be not entirely a genius, but everyone knows that "color" isn't spelled "colour". I learned that in first grade, I plan to stick by that knowledge.

After a while though, when I think we've both realized that this argument isn't important and that I was right from the start, Arthur finally admits defeat.

"Fine. You Americans spell words differently, so while I'm in America you're right." He sighs, tired of a stupid battle. He seemed in pain to admit that also, like he got all red like an apple.

But I'm not in the mood to skip a fight anymore. Arthur has been here for at least an hour, and screw tension. I don't care if I owe a dollar to the douche bag jar later; I want to be right, now.

"You said I was right, but you never said that you were wrong. That's what I want to hear." I say, straightening to my full height and looking down on him. Probably smirking too, because if I'm gonna be a douche, I might as well go all the way.

"I didn't say I was wrong because I'm not. I'm only wrong in America. I gave in, and I haven't done that in a really long time, so unless you really want me to fight you, I suggest you shut up."

I know he isn't all bark and no bite, and even though getting into a fight right now would be an okay thing, something weird washes over me. Guilt?

Yeah, guilt.

Not because of something he did, like looking up at me with tear-filled eyes and whimpering or whatever, because he didn't do that at all. He threatened me essentially, but for some reason I feel bad about it.

I never really feel like that. I'm not some heartless monster, don't get that into your mind, it's not like I can do something and not feel bad about it later. Like if I actually punched him or something, I would feel bad afterwards. But never from just a thought or an instinct to just want to fight. Something about the thought of hurting Arthur hurt me and I really, really hope that this was just a one-time thing, because Arthur and I seem to rub each other the wrong way, and if I feel guilty after every time I try to get him to apologize, I'll be a very guilty person.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Arthur leaves.

I hardly remember studying; I only remember how he and I didn't get along. I sure as hell don't remember the dates of the Spanish-American war. He doesn't remember the formula for finding velocity.

He left with a frayed string tied to me that I know has to be significant somehow.

I'll deal with it on Monday I guess. For now I'll just eat my last few Twinkies and clean out my folder. Maybe he won't be as pissed on Monday. Maybe I won't feel as guilty.

**I don't even know where this story is going, and I don't really like this chapter. **

**I feel obliged to say "Review please!", so I will. Review please!**


End file.
